Immortal Death
by Cat2000
Summary: There is a murderer on the loose, and Methos and Duncan believe that it is an Immortal


**Immortal Death**

**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything from Highlander, and I'm not making any money from this fic

**Summary:** There is a murderer on the loose, and Methos and Duncan believe that it is an Immortal

**Warning:** Spoilers, probably

**Author's Note:** This fic idea won't leave me alone. I apologise for anything I get wrong in this

* * *

The man carefully got out of his car, putting a hand to his back and grimacing slightly with pain. His back had been playing him up again, and he didn't really like to be out this late. He didn't have much choice, though. Not if he wanted to keep his job. His new client preferred meeting in the evening. At least they wouldn't be alone together. One of his coworkers would be there as well.

The man fumbled a bit with the keys, cursing silently to himself. He really needed to get one of those cars with the automated locking system. It would make his life a lot easier.

Maybe he would later, though. This car held too many fond memories for the man to be able to get rid of it so easily. They'd come through a lot together in all of the years he'd been its owner. They were both survivors. Both from a much harder time, where fear existed in constant supply and bomb scares were an everyday occurrence, a part of life just as much as going to school or work.

Ultimately, that had been the reason for the man insisting on buying that particular car. In it, he had met a kind of kindred spirit. That sort of thing might sound strange to some people, but, to him, it fit. Some people had a special book, or a favourite television program. For him, it was his car.

Finally, the man got the key in the lock, and turned it, locking the car. Bringing a torch with him to these evening meetings would be much easier, but he knew that it would look bad for the company image if he did something like that.

The man gently patted the roof of the car, and then turned away from it. The rest of the car park was practically deserted, but he didn't care. After the terrors of war and necessary evacuation, nothing had the power to scare him.

Perhaps it was this feeling of complete confidence that was, ultimately, the cause of his fate. The feeling that anything bad that happened to him paled when put in comparison to what else had gone on in his life.

The man saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye, and turned slightly, frowning a little as he couldn't see anything. He gave himself a sharp, mental shake. He knew better than to let shadows scare him.

The man turned back, and stared at the figure who had just appeared in front of him, though with no real fear. "What are _you_ doing here?"

There was no reply, but something bright flashed in the darkness, and the man fell forward onto the ground. He rolled over onto his back as he felt his life ebb from him, and saw images of his life pass before his eyes. Everything got so confused that he couldn't tell where he was now. In the car park, or crouching, hidden, as he watched his entire family slain before his young eyes?

Surprisingly, there was no pain. Just a numbing sensation. The man felt so cold as he stared up at the night sky, and choked back a sob. It wasn't fair. He had survived so much, and now it was all going to end in a deserted parking lot.

Or, perhaps, not all that deserted. The man rolled his head to the side so that he could watch his killer, coughing up blood. He felt no rage at his murderer. For, after all, when you die, no matter what you have done in your life, history is just as likely to forget you as anyone else.

The face of his murderer was the last thing the man saw before his soul departed from this world.

* * *

The banging on the front door pulled Methos out of his thoughts.

The oldest Immortal straightened with a sigh. There were moments where he felt every one of his many years, and this was one of them. At those moments, he sometimes wondered if it would be better to just let himself die, to rid the world of its oldest Immortal. He felt so tired, so weary. Immortality definitely had its downsides.

Groaning slightly, Methos glanced at the digital clock on the table next to the sofa, and sighed. _Now who would be coming to see me at 4.30 in the morning?_ he wondered.

Methos grabbed his sword, just in case. You could never be too careful when you were the oldest Immortal. Sure, he was going under an assumed name, but that wasn't going to make him suddenly less careful. If he was too careless, he would probably end up dead, and he was very attached to his head, thank you very much.

Methos lowered the sword when he saw who it was, though. "Oh, it's you," he said flatly, not very enthusiastic at all about seeing Duncan MacLeod on his doorstep, especially not since the other had found out about his identity as one of the horsemen.

Duncan didn't look very happy about coming to see the ancient Immortal either. Their angry words still hung between them, and neither could apologise for those.

It was raining outside, though, and Duncan looked positively drenched. He must have come to Methos's house as quickly as possible, which wasn't a good sign.

"Would you like to come in?" Methos asked. He could only feel Duncan's buzz, so that meant that the other Immortal wasn't accompanied by any other Immortals, at least. Not that he really thought that Duncan would attempt to overpower him using other Immortals to help him. Methos didn't think that Duncan didn't entertain the notion of taking his head, and therefore his quickening, but the Scot's honour wouldn't allow him to play against the rules.

"I suppose I'd better," Duncan sighed, stepping gingerly inside as though worried that the floor would reach up and bite him. The mental image of that amused Methos greatly, and he had to struggle to keep from laughing out loud.

Methos closed the door behind the Scot, and walked casually back into the living room, where he resumed his sprawled position on the settee. "Beers are in the fridge if you want one."

"No thanks," Duncan responded, looking disapprovingly round at the papers covering most of the surfaces in the room. Finally, he settled for moving some off one of the armchairs, and seating himself there.

Methos shrugged slightly. "Suit yourself," he said. "So, why are you here, Duncan? Obviously not to catch up on old times." The old Immortal tried to keep his tone lighthearted, and hoped that he didn't sound as hopeful as he felt. He and Duncan would probably never have the same friendship they had had before Duncan had discovered Methos's past as one of the four horsemen, Death.

"No, it's not," Duncan answered softly. He hesitated a moment, then asked, "Have you been listening to or watching the news lately?"

"A little," Methos answered. His gaze sharpened slightly. "Is this visit about that murderer who's been going around lately? How many has he killed? Four?"

"Five now," Duncan answered somberly. "An old man was found dead in a parking lot. I was wandering a bit, and saw the commotion. I managed to find out that he'd been murdered, and that the police were pretty sure it was by the same person."

Methos gave a careless shrug. "The police have got a homicide on their hands, then. I don't understand what this has to do with me, though. People are being killed... Therefore, it is a job for the police."

Duncan looked steadily at Methos. "I think that it might be the work of an Immortal."

Methos sat in silence for a moment. Then, "I think I must be imagining things. I could have sworn you said that an Immortal is going around murdering people."

"You aren't imagining things," Duncan replied. "I don't want to get involved in this either... But I'm sure I felt the faint buzz of an Immortal. It was very faint, but it was still there."

Methos sighed, and shook his head slightly. "Immortals don't go around murdering people," he said firmly. "What would be the point in that? We're supposed to kill each other, until there is only one left." Methos didn't particularly want to think about that. He and Duncan might not be happy with each other right then, but Methos wasn't sure that he would be able to take the Scot's head.

"I thought that maybe it's a fairly recent Immortal," Duncan responded. "Possibly one who's been a killer _before_ he became an Immortal, even a convicted one."

"You could be right," Methos said thoughtfully, leaning back slightly. "What do you want _us_ to do about it?"

Duncan shrugged slightly. "Maybe contact watchers, and see if any of them have heard of a recent Immortal, or even had to keep an eye on him or her."

"Sounds like a plan," Methos replied lightly, even while he inwardly blanched at having to go through all his paperwork to find out the names of all the living watchers. He wasn't really very organised.

Sighing, the oldest Immortal moved towards a stack of papers lying on the coffee table. "I guess we'd better get started then."

* * *

Sharise carefully sponged her mother's face and arms, watching the dark eyes for any signs of life. There were none. Kelly's eyes still contained that faraway look, clearly in her own little world. A world where there was no pain and suffering, where the pain of the death of her husband, Sharise's father, could not reach her.

Finishing up, Sharise leaned back, biting a nail. She wondered, not for the first time, just what her mother could have seen that had sent into mental shock so deep inside herself. Sharise had had to quit her job to come and look after Kelly. Not that she really minded, though. It had been a dead-end job, only serving the purpose to make ends meet.

Now, though, Sharise was able to do what she had really wanted to - open up her own shop. She hated having to use the money her father had left her to buy a suitable place, but it wouldn't do anyone any good to just leave the money alone. She'd become little better than a miser.

Everything had been completed now, and Sharise couldn't turn back now. She was going to go and have a proper look tomorrow, and probably start on cleaning it up as well. It had been extremely untidy when she had taken a brief, cursory look around before making the impulsive decision to buy it. That had to have been one of the only impulsive decisions she had ever made in her life.

Sharise glanced out of the bathroom window, and frowned slightly to herself. Odd. She'd been sure that she'd seen someone outside. It must have been her imagination.

Shrugging slightly, Sharise led her mother gently downstairs to get something to eat.

* * *

_She's not quite as pretty as you said, but she'll do for my purposes._

_Hah, bet you never expected something like _this_ to happen when I came to you, old man. You really had no idea of who I really was. You should have killed me when you had the chance. Of course, you don't have time for regrets now. I wouldn't really have left my 'teacher' alive, who was able to identify me._

_I should have killed the woman as well, but she screamed so loudly that I was interrupted. Still, it doesn't matter. The horror of what she saw caused her to lose her mind. She won't give me away to anyone, not even your own daughter._

_I won't make my move just yet, though. I've been following her around, so I know that she hasn't really got any friends here yet. No one will miss her when I finally take her._

_And no one will be able to stop me._

* * *

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